I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the dude of THL still sounds excellent live. And although I completely was the youngest person in attendance at Mezzanine Saturday (seriously...), I will always love "Human" unconditionally because it sounds like a love song and dancefloor anthem mashed together accidentally, and it was so completely perfect that it was the song that played as I walked up.

Iconic gems like "Don't You Want Me Baby" and "Fascination" also still are superb in all its synthpopnuwavetastic glory. And although the lineup as changed throughout the years and the art of the blips of synth has evolved, the Human League still showed me that my The Ladytrontatat Faints Chip would not exist without them. Plus, blonde backup singer Sharon was so fucking sassy with her sequined dress, I wanted to put her in my pocket.

But the highlight of the night was at the bar; being hungover as hell from the previous night, my friend Vroo and I ordered orange juices to sip on as we took a break from the dancing that started after The Human League took off. We got approached by a tall Brit in a suit who began working out his lines, and as I was trying to politely tell him we weren't interested ("Hey...it's a valiant effort, man, but no thanks"), he insisted he was actually trying to set us up to get to meet his friend. Having never been subjected to a wingman scenario, my interest was piqued and I nodded to have him bring his (presumably hotter) friend over.

"No, really! He's very cool, I think you'll like him. Be right back," he insisted. The Brit then grabbed Vroo and I's shoulders to face the wall, and we waited in silence side by side before we were tapped on the back to pivot around.

It was the same guy.

And I couldn't help but laugh.

Hysterically.

The Brit looked mad hurt, and leaned in between us with his arms around us as his face fell rapidly.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I asked as I wiped tears away. "That was the worst set-up ever, dude."

"What's your comeback?" Vroo inquired.

The Brit seriously stood there for about 15 seconds and then said, "I don't have one."

If you go to his MySpace, you'll see an uber-classy picture of said man in a slideshow of pictures of him in front of a bridge, reclining on a chair, and these sweet superghetto spotlights moving back and forth about as fast as caterpillars. Very excellent.

And although I'm not sure I can fully endorse someone with such bad takes at spelling, look at those "knuckles" on the 'Space that are being used to represent Nelly's aptly-named Brass Knuckles tour; are they diamond-encrusted? Super ass shiny? Topaz?

Last week we were excited to host Heidi; she's sure to be back soon, so check out the Get Schooled with her below!

--Heidi (Get Physical, U.K.) - a London-by-the-way-of-Ontario DJ known for her knack of pulling up infectious beats to bring to the dance floor! Playing for us Friday, August 8 with fellow headphone wearers Craig Kuna, Kevin Knapp, and Eric Sebastian.

Check out how New York City partied when she stopped by (courtesy of AirDropTV):

Thursday, August 7, 2008

And what else you ask? Why, a new YouTube channel full of derangement and love. This will be the spot for interviews, audio clips, your bootlegs, and all kinds of unknown fun. Bookmark us - you may see yourself one of these days in the crowd.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

I will be the first to admit that music without vocals never used to tickle my fancy. I grew up on a plethora of music (classic rock, alternative, country, R&B, hip-hop, rap), but the farthest extend to my exposure of voiceless pieces was when my dad would play this album during Christmas. Tragic.

(Actually. I have fond memories of that composition...sorry Dad.)

It wasn't until I took some music courses in my first year in college that I really gained a huge appreciation for opera and classical music, even seeing Philip Glass three times in one weekend (cue nerd music, I know). Since then, I gotta hand it out to musicians who create in a variety of mediums and with instruments-or-not, and even to the DJs who tour exclusively just to mix beats live.

Two of my favorite albums this year, Ratatat's LP3 and the soundtrack to The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (done by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis), are all noise and no vox. I am pleased to add Booka Shade to that list of favies, because German homeboys threw it down two weekends ago. I've struggled with how to write a review for them (how to describe two dudes on stage...hmmm); but I think to say that I walked in with no reference to the duo and walking out a fan is enough. Thankfully I had my good friend Charlie to provide me with hilarity and background ("These guys are like the Michael Jackson of German techno"), and we danced the whole time to the sounds of Water and Arno. Some highlights from the guys:

Beating the shit out of a drum kit that looked like they picked up for Rock Band at Best Buy

Hiding behind a DJ booth with what looked like a call center service rep's headset

Lots of fist pumping

Lots of jumping

German accents

Also, when we walked in, there was a sign posted on the Mezz door that stated "Please note this show will have lasers." I don't know about you, but any show with some fucking lasers has got to be good.

And completely gratuitous, but here is what I thought the whole time because of that sign:

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

"Hey Wendy! Guess who is coming to Mezzanine next week," I asked my dear friend, who I was on the phone with last night. She’s recently moved back to the Bay Area from a stint being amazing across the planet, and our conversation had reached a good breaking point to talk about upcoming shows.

"Shut the fuck up! Are you serious?" and bursts of "What?!?!" was all I heard as I fell onto my bed in stiches of laughter.

"Sexual chocolate!"

"Did you just really refer to him as confectionary with a purpose?" I asked.

"Yes…and you didn’t tell me this when we first started talking? This is headline news. What is wrong with you?"

Apparently, this guy is a big deal. Or something. Who am I kidding, the first thing we all want to know is if Robin Thicke can live up to that last name of his. C’mon now.

Kidding!

But on a serious note, I am truthfully very excited to see what this crooner can belt out. I like indie and alt as much as the next Pitchfork ho, but I also very much adore R&B and adult contemporary music as it was the basis for a lot of my childhood (as well as Bone Thugs N’ Harmony and Puffy, but that is a different story). And, as much as I love Justin Timberlake (Robin’s other ‘white chocolate’ brother), Thicke does the falsetto and the suave better than the former NSYNC'er and with the greatest of ease. I’m sure he’s gonna just look at some ladies in the audience and they’ll get pregnant.

Keri Hilson is also opening for Mr. Thicke; I know her as a guest vocalist from Timbaland’s Shock Value record from last year ("The Way I Are" is a brilliant club anthem, albeit illiterate in title), but Wendy informs me that she actually did a lot of vocal arrangements on that album as well as has written for the likes of Usher, Britney Spears, and Mr. Tim. Pretty impressive if you ask me. I guess I’ll forgive her for this heinous video she did with PCD’s Nicole Scherzinger. (I mean, really? Hoisery as head gear? Not cute.)

Monday, August 4, 2008

I got all stupid emo over at Conor Oberst on Friday, so I missed Dimitri From Paris...don't you worry though, I wore my finest bunny outfit out over in Potrero Hill in honor.

Or did I?

We did attend the Michael Jackson vs. Prince night Saturday, and I have to say that as much as ye Artist makes me feel way sexy and want to do naughty naughty things, I really think MJ won that night. His singles and non are just all classics around the board, and I found myself going "Fuck, I love this song!!!!" about 17 times that night. Also, "Bad" sounds so kickass over the PA system with the bass thumping through my veins, I totally flipped my shit. True story.

I'm in the process of picking my favorite pictures to spotlight here from that night from Suckafreeze, who were kind enough to snap some awesome party shots. Were you hella wasted and flashed some tit? Wore a MJ red jacket? Double fisted some drinks? Then you probably are on SF and should find your mug. (Girl who kept popping out of her top around 2AM near the stage, you are missing from this site. You were hot, but be glad.)

My favorite picture is here, and I gotta say to you two fellows: email me. I totally want to buy you shots.

(I'm serious!)

Anyway, I hope everyone had fun and that the two dudes who totally got into a fender bender around 2:30 by the smoking area were not too embarassed as we all broke out into cheer when the collision happened. Car accidents = bad, always, but y'all shook it off like you were in line for Jack-In-The-Box.

Friday, August 1, 2008

I have an internal battle in picking which performer has more sass, diva behavior, and good music between Michael Jackson and Prince. On one hand, the Purple One can play his own instruments, has showed his bare ass more times to count, and did one of the best sing-a-long movies to date (don't tell me when "Purple Rain" comes you don't clench your fist and pretend to have a cape on...that's a pretty shiny velvet). Plus, he still performs and does stuff like piss off Foo Fighters.

On the other hand, MJ had so many singles in his heyday, and his iconic status is hard to argue. He pretty much cemented the way we think about the Moonwalk dance in pop culture as well - but he does shit now like hang his kids over balconies and get terrible plastic surgery, so I dunno. Maybe both are in their own element.

I wanted to pit two videos of each wonder against each other, but what to pick? Ballads? Dance anthems? Songs solely about automobiles? Since the Soul Slam tomorrow is supposed to be more about grooving, I chose some videos to get us in the mood.

Arguably, one of the most memorable dance routines ever:

I also danced to this song when I was in high school:

Oh, wait. I can't post any Prince videos in comparision because he's kinda suing YouTube right now for being YouTube. Or something. How retarded.